


The Christmas Stranger

by GoodFae



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodFae/pseuds/GoodFae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day before Christmas Eve, automotive shop owner and tow truck driver Marianne Fay picks up a stranded stranger off the side of the road as a blizzard overtakes the quiet small town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers in the Snow

                Snow wedged down the front of her Carhartt’s as she scooted on her stomach under the once pristine Jaguar. Pity it wasn’t one of their sex on wheel models, she’d have loved to have one of those in her shop.  Lifting the heavy chains, she hooked them up under the car’s chassis.

                She glanced back at the frozen stick of a man who waited for her by the tow truck, shivering in his grey wool pea coat.  No, with his legs, he still probably needed every inch of space he could get in this luxury sedan. He’d never fit in one of their sportier two doors.

She got back to her feet, not bothering to brush off the snow stuck to the front of her.  The way it was coming down right now, there’d be no keeping it off her one way or another. 

“Cab’s warm.  Climb on in. I’ll only be a minute more.”

“I’ll wait.”

Even in the hazy grey darkness of the December evening’s storm, his eyes reflected a very bright blue so at odds with the pink tip of his long nose and she found herself caught off guard each time they landed on her. 

“I’ve done this a time or two before. I’m not going to hurt your car.” Annoyed with his Chicago big money vibe and the fact that she was unnerved by a pair of blue eyes, she yanked her thick gloves off, needing more dexterity to work the tow truck’s levers. 

“Ye might need help.  That bumper’s bigger than ye are.” His teeth chattered around a thick accent. She almost hated him for having it; it was like a sneaky sexual insinuation every time he opened his damn mouth. 

And yes, she realized getting hot over a man’s voice was a sign she’d been in a dry spell way, way, eons way to long. 

“It’s plastic, City.  If I can move those chains,” she pointed to the ones as thick as her arm she’d drug under his car. “Then I can handle a bumper. Get in.  The sound of your teeth knocking together is giving me a headache.”

His mouth pinched with irritation and he ground his jaw shut. The wind picked up, peppering their bodies with the stinging lash of the blizzard.  Marianne turned back to her task, shaking her numb fingers before pulling his car out of the ditch and up onto her flatbed.   Then she fished the bumper out of the snow. Halfway up the embankment, it caught the wind and nearly took her sailing with it over the wide, flat farm ground of Illinois, but she dug in her feet and wrestled with the stupid thing.

She’d be damned if she had to eat her own words in front of City.  There was a hint of a smile at his thin lips when she finally strapped it down. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Keep smirking and I’ll leave you here.”

A quick go ‘round to make sure everything was tight and where it should be on her truck, she finally climbed up into the driver’s seat, her body whimpering with relief in the meager heat the dash was putting out. 

His tall form filled the space next to her, his head brushing against the ceiling.   He alternated between rubbing large hands together and pressing them over the blowers.

“Buckle in. That wind had a merry time trying to push me off the road on the way here.”

He pulled the strap over his body and Marianne’s mind instantly pictured them stuck in a ditch, forced to use their combined body heat to keep alive, her cold nose pressed into his long stretch of neck. 

A gust of wind shook the cab so hard the dash rattled. She forced her mind back into the game, unwilling and unable to dissect her fascination with the stranger’s lanky build. 

Ten miles of empty two lane highway took a lot of time and a lot of Marianne’s nerves.  The storm was building over them, dumping snow mercilessly.  By the time she backed her truck into her shop, she knew there was no way she’d be getting back to her little place on the edge of town. 

He got out of the truck and stared at the snow swirling through the streetlamp outside. 

“I’m assuming there’s no cabs out here?”

“Closest cab company’s every bit of twenty or thirty miles away.”

“Hotel?”

“That’s closer.” He looked hopeful until she said, “I’d put it at fifteen to twenty miles.”

With a sour grimace, he turned to her. “I don’t suppose ye’d let me sleep here.”

She glanced around her automotive shop, taking in the torn apart ’52 Chevy in the corner, the more current station wagon waiting for a new fender and her own personal vehicle parked in front of the southern facing garage door, keeping free snow while she was out on the tow. He could, potentially, she suppose, sleep here in one of the cars. She also had a small couch in the office he could crash on, but his legs would hang over it from the knees down, but she didn’t have anything other than stale saltines and greasy jerky for him to eat. 

“You sure picked one hell of a night to come south of I-80, City” She crossed to her jeep and pulled the back open. 

“It’s Bog. What makes you think I’m from Chicago?” He sounded amused.

She stopped digging in the box she kept in her backseat long enough to give him a pointed glare from the top of his slicked back hair all the very long way down to his leather soled dress shoes, then returned to her task at hand.  Finding what she needed, she kicked one of her very short, wheeled stools his way.

“Sit.”

He did, his long legs gathering up practically at his ears.  Bog was an unusual name, but it suited his lanky form. She first slipped a knitted hat over his head, unable to ignore the softness of his hair.

“Who goes out into a blizzard without a hat or a scarf?” She was careful not to touch his neck when she twisted a scarf around him—mostly because she wanted to touch it, curious about the pulse she spotted at the base near the stiff white collar of his suit shirt.  Those blue eyes watched her with something akin to caution and embarrassment while she tucked the ends of the scarf into his coat. 

“I know a place you can stay.  But these are my people, Mr. King—”

“Bog.”

“But you hurt them, and I’ll break your knee caps.”

“Ye always threaten yer customers?”

“It’s part of the charm they’ve come to expect from my services.”  Her fingers lingered at his shoulders, even though the scarf was securely around him now.  Up close, his eyes made her forget tiny details.  Like breathing. And her own name.

One side of his mouth quirked back in an almost smile. “Indeed?  Lure them in with the fairy face and knock ‘em flat with the tough girl package. Yer clientele must be all male.”

“What gave it away, the station wagon with three car seats?”

And then he did smile, his eyes ghosting down to her lips. 

Oh, and the ache that put inside of her had her scrambling backwards like she’d just stepped on a hot welding iron. 

“We’d better get going.” She tugged her own hat further down her head.  “We’ll cut through the park, just stick close because it’ll be easy to get lost out in that.”

He climbed up the side of her tow truck, his legs making easy work of it.  He pulled two bags out of the back of his car and slung them over his shoulder before following her to the door.  Bitter cold greeted them. It pushed down into Marianne’s clothes so quickly that she marched with a single minded determination out the back door of her shop.  The town’s park was large and under normal circumstances, Marianne liked walking it at night.  Especially this time of year when lights decorated the trees, and wreaths hung off the small pool house and the baseball field’s concession building.  But there was nothing but white around them now. 

Wind puffed at them, slowing her steps, even shoving her sideways. She bristled when he put his hands out, catching her at one point before moving his body up against hers, bracing her against him as they moved, his hands on her hips.  

She thought she heard him mutter “tough little fairy” but the wind blew too hard to be sure.  She fought the urge to shrug him off, his touch the most intimate thing she’d experienced in months and months, but they covered more ground without her fighting to move forward so much. 

Her limbs were frozen by the time she reached the latch of a familiar picket fence across the street on the far side of the park.  She scrabbled with it, her fingers too numb to pull it open, but he stepped over it and then lifted her up and over it.  And he didn’t put her back down until they were on the snowy front porch.  Now she could see the golden lights spilling out the front door and windows of the house. 

She pounded her fist against the wood.

It took half a frozen minute for the door to finally open, warmth and the sounds of her brother in law singing to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas, and the sounds of children playing rolled out into the cold night air.  
                “Marianne! Why on earth are you knocking? Come in, it’s freezing out.”

“My hands are too cold to turn the knob.” She shook them hard, trying to force life back into them.

“Oh, dear God, you’re frozen through.” Her sister held the door wide, letting Marianne past.

She started to shut it but Bog followed her in.  Dawn’s eyes went wide, flicking from Marianne to him, then back to Marianne before she smiled wide, sliding up onto her tippy-toes.

“You brought a date!”

“What?” Marianne jerked her head up from the zipper she was fighting with. “Dawn, no-”

But Dawn was gone, yelling into the house.  “SUNNY, MARIANNE’S HERE.  SHE BROUGHT A DATE!”

“NO, SHE DIDN’T!” Marianne yelled after her, knowing even as she did it was futile.  Her sister wasn’t likely to hear her over the chaos, let alone actually listen to her.  Once Dawn got an idea in her head, it was stuck. Marianne stuffed her hat into her pocket and threw her coat over the twenty or so already collected on hooks lining the wall.  She nearly tripped over the piles of shoes in the hall trying to get her own off

“This is going to get really awkward before it gets better,” she warned him over her shoulder, drawing down the shoulder straps of her Carhartt overalls.  “I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

His eyes tracked the motion of the canvas material down her body, and very suddenly, the mundane act of removing her heavy towing gear had somehow become seductive, although she didn’t know who was seducing who. Heat stung her cheeks.  His eyes grew hooded as they took in the dark denim and faded purple shirt that clung to her figure and her stomach clenched when he held a hand out to help her step out of bunched material at her feet.  The move brought her closer to him and the cold still radiated off his grey suit, but he’d undone a couple buttons at his neck, revealing the straight white line of his entire throat. 

A small naked child streaked past, then came back, the candy cane in his hand dripping with drool. He stared up wide eyed at them. 

“Josh, where are your pants?” Marianne pulled her hand out of Bog’s, scrubbing the tingling feeling against her leg.

“I not Shosh!” He yelled, sticking his hands behind his head and executing a perfect helicopter before shrieking and running away. She missed the days that Dawn and Sunny had dressed the triplets in different colors in order to tell them apart. 

“See? More awkward right on cue. But hey, I know which one that is now.  Alan, the family exhibitionist.” She stepped into the family room off the foyer, every cell in her body acutely aware that Bog followed.  “Dawn! Alan’s naked! Again.”

“Alan!” Dawn yelled as she marched through the dining room from the kitchen, dragging her husband Sunny with her. “Stop frightening your aunt’s date! Underwear or no snack tonight!”

“No-Dawn-” Marianne grunted when one of the kids wrapped around Sunny’s leg flew at her, wrapping around her instead. Legs still stiff and frozen she nearly went down but Bog caught them both.  For the second time that day, Marianne was flat against him and this time, there were a lot fewer clothes between them.  He sat her upright, then stepped away.  Putting about three feet between them.

“Hi, I’m Dawn and this is my husband Sunny. Sunny, this is Marianne’s boyfriend—”

“Dawn-Jesus-” Marianne choked, where in that cloud filled head of hers had he gone from date to boyfriend?

“Is the reason for the season, Marianne.  So nice of you to come…” She extended a hand towards Bog.

“Bog. Bog King.” He answered, taking her hand then looked as if he immediately regretted it when she wrapped both hers around his one hand.  “Oh, you’re frozen.  Come into the kitchen, I’ll get you something warm to drink. Have you eaten? Alan Ferguson Davis! Underwear goes on your butt, not your head!”

Marianne groaned, watching her not-date and absolutely not-boyfriend get sucked along into the fray that was her sister’s very happy if loud home.  She’d leave it in his hands to explain to Dawn that he wasn’t here in that capacity what so ever. 

Which, Marianne thought, put a painful twist of irony on the fact that she was very much attracted to him.

“Sunny. Get me a beer. Or I’ll give the kids candy.”

“No beer, just eggnog and that doesn’t frighten me anymore.” The young girl on his shoulders, Delia, took a fist full of his hair and pulled but Sunny didn’t so much as bat an eye.


	2. Set Them Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games until some couple ends up sharing a bed.

Bog King found himself at a kitchen table with a ham sandwich, a cup of hot coffee and two women who were… _fawning…_ over him  Something he could honestly say he’d ever experienced before.  The sister, Dawn, was a bright beam of sunlight come to life.  He hadn’t decided yet if he was annoyed or charmed. Annoyed felt like the appropriate response here, but there was something so genuine in her regard that he couldn’t quite bring himself to snuff out the cute she emanated.  The shorter, thicker, louder and older woman, now she was annoying.  She introduced herself as Griselda, a family friend. Then she almost immediately begun telling him about some cashier who worked at the gas station and had just broken up with her boyfriend and might be needing some Christmas cheer—wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

                But Dawn had laughed and snapped a hand towel at her. “Silly, this is Marianne’s boyfriend.”

                A bit of coffee went down the wrong pipe and he coughed hard. 

                “So, Marianne’s finally moved on.” Griselda eyed him up and down, then brushed her hand over his arm, as if judging the quality of the suit’s material. “Well, it’s about time someone else in your family started making babies.  Your poor father all alone in that big house.”

Dawn leaned in to fill Bog’s coffee, giving him a conspiratorial eye roll. “Oh, yes. My poor father.”

“Listen,” he said. “Marianne and I have only just met—”

“Where did you meet anyway?”

“On the side of the road. She towed my car.”

“Oh, that’s so romantic,” Griselda swooned loudly, hand to her breast.

“Um, okay.” He scratched the back his neck, not sure what exactly was romantic about that, but

what did he know about romance anyway?

                “Met on the side of the road and now you’re dating, it is lovely.” Dawn caught his face between her hands and before he could jerk away, she’d planted a kiss on his nose. 

                And he wiped it off with the back of his hand, mostly to hide the dumbstruck blush curling over his ears. He started eating his sandwich just to keep the two women from touching him again. 

                Squealing filled the kitchen, and it wasn’t the dying goat he feared but two small children fighting over an even louder firetruck.  He wistfully imagined the empty old brick Victorian where he was supposed to be at that very moment, just him and the howling storm for company. Rather than trying to yell over the noise that neither Griselda nor Dawn appeared to be phased by in the least, he just finished the food.  It was her family, Marianne could set them straight.    

 

 

                Apparently, his status as Marianne’s boyfriend gave him free reign of the house.  When his plate was empty, Dawn had given him a glass of eggnog heavy on the nog and sent him out of the kitchen.  Griselda whispered loudly behind him that Marianne was in the front room helping one of her nephews with a trainset—wink, wink, nudge, nudge.  So he went the opposite direction, finding himself in a small den of a room.  But there was a lazy fire in the hearth and another Christmas tree (he’d counted no less than four so far).  And bonus, no children (he’d counted no less than four of those so far, too).  But he didn’t see Dawn’s husband Sunny until it was too late to back out of the room.

                “Hey, Bog, right?” Sunny gestured with his own glass of eggnog towards him.

                “Aye, Bog.” He resigned himself to chatting with yet another of Marianne’s relatives and settled himself on the rug in front of the fire, pointing his still cold feet towards it. 

                “Where you from, man? Dawn’s gone all dreamy eyed over your accent.”

                “Chicago most recently, but Scotland the better part of my life.” He thought of Marianne’s habit of calling him City. It rather amused him.  The boy who’d come to America over a decade ago would have fainted dead at the idea of someone like Marianne believing he was citified.  It helped him remember just how far he’d come. 

                “You know when she finds that out, she’s gonna ask if you got a kilt. And if you’ll wear it for her.”

                “Sunny? Griselda asked me to bring you another drink.”

Bog was saved from having to respond to that by Marianne. The tiny tow truck driver paused when she spotted him on the rug.  Then she held the cup out to her brother in law.  Sunny glanced at his own still full glass and shrugged.

                “I’m good.  You drink it.” He patted the seat next to him on the small couch. “Sit. Be merry.  Tell me again why it’s gonna cost me ten large ones to get that Chevy restored.”

“Well, to start, you bought a rusty bucket barely worth restoring. I told you not to go to that auction without me.”  She curled up on a corner of the rug instead of the couch, pointing her back to the fire.  The Christmas tree sent random patterns of red, yellow and green across her face.  He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that face. Strange and peculiar, but no less beautiful for it. Perhaps beautiful because of it.  He wasn’t sure.  It was hard to get past the singularly gold color of her eyes and absorb the rest of her features.

Hard, but not impossible.  She’d taken those bulky overalls off, her eyes watching him from over her shoulder and something about the smell of a house at Christmas time and the slow reveal of the curve of her backside had knocked him sideways for a moment.  And then her eyes had gone hot and he’d just about drowned in all that gold. 

 “Dawn’s mad you didn’t tell her you were bringing your boyfriend.” Sunny poked his finger at Marianne. “Which means we’re mad at you.  She’s afraid we made a poor impression.”

                She scrubbed her hand over her face and started to say something then let out a slow sigh, her face warring between resignation and irritated amusement.  “It was a last minute decision. Right, dear?”

                Wry humor slowly wrinkled her nose and Bog wasn’t quite sure how to handle the way that tugged at him.  She wasn’t cute like her sister, she was…quirky-cute.  Different.  And he liked it—her.

He frowned, distrusting the unfamiliar feeling circling up his spine.  It was this house, this cinnamon and Christmas carol bathed house making him sentimental.  He realized Marianne was watching him expectantly, and heat flushed up his throat.  The cardiac wallop that gold color delivered certainly wasn’t helping anything. He cleared his throat.  “I sprang myself on her without any warning,”

                It must have been the right response because she nodded.  “He came all the way from Chicago, I didn’t feel right turning him away.”

Bog chuckled despite himself and his coconspirator winked. He knew it was just a silly little joke.  But he’d never been in on something like this.  It was dumb, to enjoy it.  It was dumb to feel special that she and he were basically patronizing her well-meaning but ridiculous family all in the name of a good laugh but it did make him feel special.  Or at least, for a little while, he’d feel like a part of something.

                “Well, we’re family here.” Sunny said warmly, a bit of eggnog clinging to his upper lip. “It’s just Griselda came early this year too so she could beat the storm and Dawn’s already got her in the basement suite.  So that puts you two in the attic and she hasn’t gotten the space ready yet.”

                Bog watched as pink filled Marianne’s cheeks and she stared silently down into her cup. What on earth would make a woman like her blush? 

“It’ll be chilly up there what with this wind and all, but bed’s small enough that I’m sure you two won’t notice,” Sunny added.

“Oh.” _Oh_.  The feeling left Bog’s fingers.

They thought he was her _boyfriend_ ….

She lifted her gaze to his then dropped it again.

So they were going to be sharing a bed.

Right.

Well.

        Just as soon as he was able again to think past the unbidden image of sliding his hands up her shirt and bringing her against his body in some darkened attic bed, he was going to think of right way to tell her family that he’d prefer a couch. Downstairs.   


	3. Frightening Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More eggnog, please.

 “So what is it you do, Bog?” Sunny asked. “You look like a lawyer.”

                Grateful Sunny didn’t seem to notice the hot scarlet overtaking the back of his neck, Bog croaked as clearly as he could.  “Writer.”

                “Journalism?”

                “Horror, actually.I write under the pseudonym Pete Scott.” He didn’t usually just give out his pen name, and God he hoped he didn’t sound pretentious, but he had so very little to impress the tough tow truck driver with.  He was a man with a successful career and not much else to his name.

                “Wait. What?” Sunny’s gasp pulled Bog’s attention away from the contemplative look on her face.  “You’re Pete Scott? _The_ Pete Scott?”

                “Aye.”

                “Holy shit. Marianne. Holy shit.”

                She laughed up at her brother in law and reached over to pat his knee.  “If you’re gonna puke, aim somewhere else, yeah? He’s a fan,” she said to Bog.  “If you didn’t catch that.”

                “Will you sign my books?”

                He flushed, still so unaccustomed to that sort of attention. Relative anonymity was the biggest boon to using a pen name.  “Aye, but tomorrow.”

                Sunny nodded, his head bouncing around like one of those bobble dolls Bog saw on people’s car dashes. 

                “I’m just going to go find Dawn.  Now. Don’t go anywhere.”  Eggnog forgotten on the side table, Sunny disappeared from the room. 

                Warmth slid through Bog like a soft exhale when Marianne started laughing.  “Well, jeez. It’s going to really ruin his Christmas now when we break up.”

                “Then we’ll wait till after the holiday and I’ll do something horrible like run away with a waitress, make it easier for him to forget me.”

                Marianne’s face paled and the cup in her hand tipped, nearly spilling eggnog.  He was forced to scoot forward, catching it before she made a mess of herself.

                “What is it? Are ye hurt?” He set their cups aside and hesitantly brushed the short, messy crop of hair out of her eyes to better see her. “Marianne, are ye sick?” She was so ashen, he nearly called out for Dawn or Sunny but she caught his hand, pulling it from her hair.

                “How did you know that?”

                “Know what?”

                “About Roland? How could you possibly have known that?” Horrified speculation slid into her eyes and she leaned away from his body.

                “Who’s Roland?” He asked, at a total loss as to how they went from banter to this.    

                “That thing you said. About the waitress.  About leaving with her.”

                “I was trying to amuse you.  Marianne, it was the lamest way I could think of a guy skipping out on his girlfriend. I’m sorry if it upset you.”  

                “Lame.” An oddly quiet laughed huffed out of her. “Yes. Roland was lame.” Her shoulders caved.  “My fiancé left with a waitress. You caught me off guard.”

                Realizing he was still kneeling over her, Bog settled for sitting next to her, his arms over his knees. “Your fiancé really ran off with a waitress?”

                “Yep.  Then took her money and dumped her for a show girl in Vegas. Or so I’ve been told.”

                “Oh.”

                She picked at her thumb nail.

                “I guess once the snow’s gone, I’ll have to come up a more original exit from yer life.  Death by goblin, maybe.”

                A small sound, mostly amused, huffed out of her.  “You write horror stories, I expect it to be gruesome and gory.”

                “I won’t let you down,” he promised.

                It was quiet for a moment.  He wondered if he shouldn’t move back to his spot now, was it weird to still be sitting next to her?

                “So,” she drew her knees ups, wrapping her arms around them and studied him.  “What’s a guy like you doing in a cornfield like this, anyway?”

                “Well. Moving here. Actually.” And, didn’t that put a bit of a twist on his future death?  He’d be living not ten or so miles from the very shop she worked in. 

                “You? You’re moving here?”

                “As a matter of fact, yes.  My aunt’s got this wild hair about moving to Paris, so she left me her place.  I’ve needed a change for a while.” He shrugged. “I figured the gift of a creepy old brick Victorian in the middle of nowhere Illinois was a sign.”

                “ _You’re_ Plum’s nephew?”

                “Ye know her?”

                “Everyone around here knows Plum.  She’s been streaking at the annual Fourth of July Carnival for as long as I can remember.”

                He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aye, she’s always been a bit eccentric.”

                “Wait.” She turned a bit, her thigh brushing his. “You do realize you actually passed the turn off to her place? You drove right by it.”

                “She mentioned as much when I called her from the ditch.  She was at an airport in Georgia getting ready to board.  So she gave me yer number said ye’d get me where I needed to be.”

                “Well, that’s worked out well.  You’re in bachelor hell. A house full of children and chaos.”

                “Officially not a bachelor anymore according to your family.” And as far as he was concerned, it had worked out…okay enough.  Even with the random naked child and random sticky doorknobs. 

                She groaned, but there was a laugh in there somewhere. “God, I’m sorry about that.  The boyfriend thing.  They’re so desperate for me to start dating again, no one will listen to me.  Rolling with it seemed the easier option at the time.”

                “I tried, too.  Your sister just kissed my nose and fed me more food. She called me a stringy beany.”

                And then Marianne did laugh, her eyes dancing with firelight. She was so close to him, her body barely brushing his in places and it was the most exquisite sort of torture.  He watched her out of the corner of his eyes.  In all his years of wishing he’d been born under different circumstances, in a different body, Bog never remembered feeling it this fervently.  If he weren’t him, he’d have touched her right then.  Too many hard experiences had taught him though that women weren’t ever eager to accept his advances so he limited his pleasure to coveting the hollows of her collarbone which were sure to smell like her.  Taste like her.  His mouth watered at the thought and he cleared his throat rapidly.  “I have to say, yer the prettiest girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

                Bog bit the inside of his cheek hard. What had sounded smooth in his head came out rather creepy and he floundered a moment.  “Not that I’ve had that many. One real one. Or halfway real, she only used me to get to my publishing agent with her own manuscript.”

                “Ouch.”

                “Yeah.” He remembered how Marianne had warned him things would get a lot more awkward before they got better.  He’d take a naked kid again over his own filterless rambling. 

                “If we were anywhere else but here, I’d pour you a stiff drink. But we’re stuck with eggnog which only actually tastes good after the third cup.”  She stretched forward, picking up his cup and handing it back to him. He expected her sit back down a bit further from him, but she just settled in at his side again, her own glass in hand.

“I’ve taken to feeding cats now.” Her words were punctuated with dubious stare at the slightly separating eggnog in her hand.

“What?”

“I’m turning into the crazy cat lady.  It started with just one miserable, scrawny little cat and one tiny, thirty five cent can of cat food.  And now there’s about a dozen.  And every night, I’m out there on my little back porch in my stupid old woman pajamas feeding them.” She made a miserable face as she sucked down a deep draw of nog.

“I’m sure your pajamas aren’t stupid.” He wasn’t going to even touch the cat thing.

She sighed. “The bitch of it is that the house I rent is smack dab center of some of my father’s best farm ground.  Farm ground that should’ve been mine.  So I have to feed my cats and wear my terry cloth, zippered nightgown all while it silently judges me.”

Bog traced the Christmas tree printed on the glass’s smooth surface with his thumb.  “Why isn’t it yers, then? The land?”

She wiggled her cup at him. “You’re drinking too slow.  Catch up.”

He obeyed and she continued. “My dad’s self-appointed King of Corn around here.  You can’t spit without touching ground he owns.  And ever since I was a little girl, he raised me to farm, taught me everything I needed to know.  By the age of eighteen, I was set to take over for him when the time was right. I was also engaged to Roland. A few weeks before the wedding, I found him with another woman.”

“The waitress?”

“Different one if you can believe it.  Real gem, our Roland is.  So I called off the wedding. And he makes a few horrible attempts at winning me back, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. It was like my eyes had suddenly been opened. Then my dad starts pressuring me back towards Roland.”

“Wait, yer da still wanted you to marry this fucker?” God, that made the eggnog in his gut go a little sour.

“Most emphatically yes, because marriage to me was the shiny cherry on top of the merger he and Roland’s family had drawn up. Their farm and our farm, making it the biggest in Illinois and the most influential in State lobbying.”

His head just spun for a moment and he sat there staring at her. “Jesus actual fucking Christ.”

“Is the reason for the actual fucking season.” She lifted her glass in a salute.  After a drink, she continued. “When I wouldn’t cave to marriage, even though I was ruining the beginnings of a dynasty, Roland ran off with the waitress and I’m not sure my dad’s ever forgiven me for that.  There was a time afterwards that he used to talk about me taking over the family farm, but it always came with a catch.  A husband to help me run it or no dice. And it finally pissed me off so bad, I got a lawyer, made him relinquish control of the little nest-egg land my mother left Dawn and I before she died.  Then Dawn and I turned around and sold it back to him for the most we could extort from him, which was a lot considering he didn’t want the McFee family buying it and gaining control of this side of the county—which never really was a threat as the McFee’s didn’t even know it was for sale and Dawn just made their interest up in a fit of evil genius to make Dad paranoid.”

Bog chuckled.  “I like yer sister.”

Marianne touched his glass again, encouraging another drink down him.  “When it was over, she bought this house for the family she and Sunny were building, and I bought the shop. Because fuck him and his precious land. I’ll build my own fucking empire.” She finished her eggnog and set the glass aside, linking her fingers together around her legs.  “I tend to frighten men.” She considered him with a sidelong glance he felt to his toes.  “What about you?”

He lifted his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve frighten a man in some time.”

Her mouth twitched.  “Do I frighten you, City?”

“Nah.” He finished his eggnog, still not meeting her eyes.  “I like the fierce bite about ye best.”

She smiled and he pretended his heart didn’t stutter so hard in his chest. 

They were quiet a moment, just listening to the sounds of squealing children in a distant part of the house.  Somewhere, Silent Night played over a radio and it floated through the air as soft as a lullaby


	4. Parallel Dimensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanting too much can lead to hurting too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's reading this!

“So, you’re the Pete Scott?” She asked.

                “Aye.”

                “You dork.”

                “I beg your pardon?”

                “Pete? P-E-A-T, as in a marsh? A bog?  Scott? As in Scottish? Don’t think I don’t know what kind of nerd you really are, City.”

                He laughed, stupidly pleased that she’d decoded his pen name so swiftly.  “Clever girl.”

                Marianne bumped her shoulder against his and heat tickled along the back of his neck. 

                “I listen to audio books a lot when I’m working.  Brutus, my mechanic, turned me on to your stuff.  We finished The House Sarah Made a couple weeks ago. Spooky as fuck, if you don’t mind me saying.”

                “I don’t mind.” He knew he was scalding with a blush now, a trait he owed to his fair Scottish skin. He had relatively no family, no friends to speak of so complements usually came in the form of fan mail.  And while nice, they were impersonal, never meaning much he’d expected them to when he was just a novice at the craft, dreaming of his big break.  But he was drawn to Marianne, found himself stretching out of his own lonely sort of hell with her, so the complement from her went further than anything he’d ever heard before.

“Here we go.” Dawn appeared in the doorway, a thick book in her arms.  “Sunny has bath duty tonight, so I’m hiding until it’s over. And I brought the requisite embarrassing photos of Marianne.” She brandished what turned out to be a photo album.

                Next to him, Marianne hissed, all but climbing over his lap and tackling her sister.  Dawn shrieked, holding the album against her chest with both arms while Marianne tried to yank it away.

                “Don’t you want him to see your naked baby pictures?  Those awkard pre-teen years?” Dawn’s voice was faint as she was giggling too hard, clinging with all she could to the book while Marianne practically jerked her across the floor.  “Your three years as reigning Queen of the Sweetcorn Harvest?”

                Bog got to his feet, stuck one hand between the sisters and pulled the album out. He’d intended on perching it up on a shelf high enough neither could reach it, but then again… “Queen of the Sweetcorn Harvest? Sounds so bucolic I can hardly contain my curiosity.”

                He stumbled when Marianne launched against him, landing with her legs around his waist, her arm reaching up for the pictures.  And she was laughing with the effort, her face flushed.  “You tall idiot.  Give me that.”

                “That’s no way to speak to yer boyfriend,” he said with all the disdain he could muster.

                She snorted, her hand falling to his shoulders, eyes even more gold and gorgeous this close. “I have it in good authority that my boyfriend likes my fairy face and tough girl package.” 

The utter delight of her against him, her legs wrapped around his waist while snarky humor dripped off the corners of her mouth was almost more than he could bear.  Without thinking, Bog dropped his head, catching her smile with his mouth.  Warmth burst through him, as if the sun spun inside of her and for a moment, the world fell away.  There was only this fleeting connection to a woman who smelled like home.   

                She pulled back and he came to his senses a little late.  Pink flushed under the delicate skin across her cheeks, and shyness bracketed her small, trembling smile.  She dropped her legs and he dropped his arm. 

                Dawn wrapped both of them in her arms with an enthusiastic squeeze.  “Oh, my gawd, you two are adorable.  Come look at these pictures, Bog.  Marianne, make yourself useful and find me some wine.”

                Marianne stuck her hands in her pockets, her face very much still a shade of petal pink as she left the room. He stared at the empty doorway, shocked at what he’d done.  And troubled by the fact that he could still taste that tiniest bit of her lip he’d captured between his own. 

                He shouldn’t have done that. 

                Not just because he’d embarrassed Marianne, but because he was stuck with the taste of her inside of him now.  He could never go back to not knowing.  And he’d never be able to look at her again without wanting more. That was the broken record of his life—wanting more. Getting glimpses of the good things in life and struggling to ever reach them.  Of the trifecta, family, love and money, the only thing he’d ever achieved was the money.  And he’d have given that up for the others years ago.  Which had only made it hurt that much more when Tessa used him.  He’d wanted too much, needed too much.  And it had hurt too damn much. 

                And here he was again, wanting so very much. 

                Dawn impatiently steered him towards the couch and jerked him down, sitting on her knees next to him.  She pulled the album open on his lap. He was bombarded with images of young Dawn and Marianne from their infancy on. At age six or seven, a small boy with warm colored skin entered the pictures, at birthday pool parties and sledding down white hills.  It was Sunny, no doubt about it.   A few years later, teen Marianne was as fresh as a peach, her smile open and unguarded.  A blond boy with as much hair as toothy smile stood next to her in a prom photo. 

                Bog scowled. “Is that him? Is that the guy?”

                Dawn nodded. “Yeah.” Her nose wrinkled as she considered the picture.  “Funny how I used to think Marianne was so happy with him, and then I see her with you and it’s like little puzzle pieces clicking together.”

                Dawn saw what she wanted to see, so she couldn’t know how much hearing that hurt.   He offered her a small smile in acknowledgement, then glued his focus to the pictures in his lap, willing her to just continue. 

 She pointed at another picture, this one of her prom in a large group of young boys with no other girls.  “I couldn’t decide on one. So I took them all.”

                 “Where’s Sunny?”

                “DJ-ing for prom. We weren’t quite childhood sweethearts, it took me a few bad experiences in love to realize I’d had the real stuff living three houses down my whole life.”

                “Yer lucky in that.  Some people go their whole lives without the real stuff.”       

                She smiled, turning to another page.  The pictures slowly turned to the birth of her own children and Marianne went from the radiant SweetCorn Queen to the smoldering tow truck driver. While the pageant girl was pretty enough, he much preferred the fire coming from the smoky eyed woman holding her newborn niece in her arms. 

                Chaos heralded Sunny’s return along with all five of the children.  They spilled into the room like a migrating flock of birds.  Marianne followed up the rear more slowly.  Dawn shut the album, setting it aside to receive her brood. Two little bodies climbed into his own lap, one of them he recognized as the nudist who was thankfully fully clad in superhero pajamas.  They smelled of shampoo and clean soap and neither seemed put off by the fact that he was a stranger, they just settled against him and begged their mother for cookies before bed. 

                Watching Dawn and Sunny manage all the kids was a welcomed distraction. It was two cookies for everyone, himself included, before it was their bed time.  A little girl with damp ringlets and a smear of chocolate on her chin demanded a kiss from him.  Then Dawn and Sunny shooed them out, the noise slowly fading as the family made their way upstairs. 

                Marianne slid off the arm of the couch, plopping down into the seat next to him. The fire place crackled, seeming louder now that the five children were gone.  Snowflakes patted at the window like white moths drawn to the fire’s light. 

                Bog clenched his fingers over his knees, waiting for her to let him down gently, or in her case, threaten to cut his break lines if he ever kissed her again.  But she only fiddled with a little piece of chocolate, unwrapping it and handing it to him.  She offered it silently and he took it silently.  She unwrapped her own and only when she ate hers did he eat his. 

                And when that piece was gone, and she just fished another out of her pocket, he began to relax.  It was his dour nature to take things too seriously.  In all fairness, despite the fact that it had embarrassed her, she probably saw the kiss as such an inconsequential nothing that it wasn’t worth the time to address it. He appreciated and resented that, but settled back into the cushion a little more comfortably. 

                Four pieces of chocolate later, Marianne finally sighed and scooped all the little bits of wrapper back into her palm.  “It’s not Christmas unless I get a stomach ache at some point.”

                “Good to know you set high goals.”

                She threw a piece of silver foil at him and he flicked it back.

                “So here’s the deal,” she said, wadding it all up into a tight ball.  “Dawn and Sunny are going to come back here and ask if you want to relax, play a few games, and have a few drinks.  You cannot be lulled into a false sense of security that this is some sort of chill party atmosphere. They’re ruthless and they will not hesitate to cream us. And now I have to ask you something incredibly personal.”

                “Ah, okay…” He stuttered when she got to her knees, staring intently into his eyes. 

                “How good are you at trivia?”

                His brows arched and he leaned back on the couch, gesturing to her with one hand.  “Try me.”

                Marianne’s eyes narrowed.  She spouted off random questions, pulling them out of the air.  He answered each one.

“Now, can I trust you? Sunny might ditch Dawn if he thinks you’ll give him better odds at winning. I need to know that you’ll tell him it’s couples night and you’re going to play with me.  Dawn will purposefully let Sunny win if she’s on my team because if he wins at trivia, she reaps the benefits upstairs if you follow my meaning.”

Bog cleared his throat, giving her a shaky nod.  “You and me. Team. Got it.”

And a grim smile lit her face as she rubbed her hands together. “Then victory, here we come.”  

                “Bitch, please.” Sunny said, arm and arm with his wife.  “You say that every year.”

                “Yeah, well, this year’s different.”

                “You mean cause of your little boyfriend?” Sunny dropped the box onto the rug in front of the fire as if he were laying down a challenge. “Was he president of his high school’s trivia team?”

                “No, but I’ve a photographic memory and the propensity to read everything I can get my hands on.”

                Sunny smirked. “Listen, I might like your books.” His wife coughed hard.  “I might be a fan.”

Dawn coughed again as if to mask her words. “Only your biggest.”

“But you don’t scare me.  Trivia is my thing.”

                “We’ll see about that then.” Bog cracked his neck and moved to the floor, flipping the lid of the board game with one finger. 

                Sunny squatted down and placed his hand over the game board. “We should play men versus women tonight.  Let the sisters stick together since it’s Christmas and all.”           

                “Sorry, Sunny.” Bog held his hand out towards Marianne. “I’ll play this one with her.”

                She slid down next to him, giving Sunny the single most smug smile Bog had ever seen, all while rubbing her hand on Bog’s leg. “My boyfriend’s got a photographic memory.”  

                Yes, yes, he did and right then he was memorizing the feel of Marianne’s hand on him. 

In the end, Sunny and Dawn took the win and Marianne scowled as she restacked the trivia cards.  “Home turf advantage. Next year, we’ll take you.”

                Dawn patted her cheek. “You’re so cute when you’ve been properly defeated. You too, Bog. You’re both just too much lying crushed at our feet.”

                He accepted Dawn’s ruffling of his hair with quiet amusement.  They’d won fair and square, and he didn’t even care.  Four hours later and he’d ate enough cookies and drank enough eggnog and coke to make Kris Kringle jealous.  He’d laughed almost too much.  And he’d gotten so used to Marianne at his side that a chill set in almost immediately the moment she stood.     

                “Attic’s all set for you two.  I stuck a space heater and a few extra blankets up there earlier.” Dawn yawned, wrapping an arm around her husband’s shoulder.  “If you’re not out of bed by eight, I’m sending the kids up. You’ve been warned.”

                Bog rubbed his brow with a thumb, then got to his feet. Apparently his time existing in a world where he was Marianne Fay’s boyfriend was up.  It was bittersweet, getting a glimpse of all this, the different path his life could have taken if he’d simply been born like Sunny down the street from these two sisters.  But, like any good horror writer, he was familiar with the idea of infinite parallel dimensions.  In one, he had been born down the street.  In another, his life would never even cross paths with them.  And in another, right now, was some version of himself who’d be spending the night with Marianne. He wished the lucky bastard well. 

                “Dawn, about that,” Bog said.  “I’d appreciate—”

                A small warm hand curled into his and squeezed.

                “I’d appreciate—” He glanced down the length of his arm and followed the soft stroke of Marianne’s thumb over his knuckles.  “Um.” 

                She pressed close to him with a vulnerable edge to the smile she offered him.

                “You okay?” Dawn asked, both she and Sunny watching them.

                And Bog didn’t know.  Was this? Did this mean _he_ was the lucky bastard Bog?


	5. Waiting and Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog's makes his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't tell you how much I appreciate all the positive feedback. I've really really really enjoyed writing this. There'll be one more chapter after this-an epilogue of sorts.

 

                For a moment, Marianne thought he was going to refuse her and she frantically wondered if she’d misread him. But he’d kissed her, damn it.  And if it had just been some lust filled embrace, she wouldn’t be standing there, wanting to take him upstairs to a bed. Lust was wonderful, it certainly had its place in the world, but it wasn’t appropriate for the attic bed of her sister’s family home.  If it had just been lust, Marianne would wait until the roads cleared and Bog was settled at his new place before pursuing him.

But Bog had kissed her with such delighted affection, as if he were celebrating everything she’d made him feel in that moment.  And men just didn’t kiss her like that.  They didn’t give her a sweet sort of tender acceptance, no they usually cut a wide birth around her. Very few ever dared to approach her and pursue sex, let alone a relationship, and those that did were just there for the bragging rights, the same as they would if they made thirty seconds on a bull at the county fair.

So yes, lust Marianne could resist.  But this gentle tugging between them, the God damn way he watched her out of the corner of his eyes made her desperate to chase after it as if it might disappear before she could catch it.  So she gently wrapped her other hand around his, imprisoning it between both of her own.

The color drained from his face except for twin spots of red high on his cheekbones. He’d ran his hands through his hair so many times during trivia that it now spilled over into his face, creating shadow where there had once been none. Not willing to believe he’d turn her away, she pushed her fingers between his, the slide of his skin against hers rough and intimate.  Her lips parted in surprise and Bog followed that movement, his nose flaring in response. 

“Bog?” Dawn prompted again.

He shook his head slowly. “No, I just meant to say thank ye, for having me here. In yer home.”

                “We good then?” Sunny asked.

                “Aye.”

                “Fantastic. I’m going to bed.” Sunny clapped his hands together and Dawn jumped at the loud noise.  One look at her husband’s face and she was giggling, backing out of the room, Sunny hot on her heels.  A few seconds later, Dawn’s squealed laugh echoed down the dark hallway Marianne and Bog were more slowly making their way through. 

                She used to really hate that about them. Roland and her Dad had ripped from her everything she’d ever believed about love and left her with nothing in its place but a bitter burning and she used to really fucking hate how much Sunny and Dawn still loved each other. She lived for those times when they fought, thinking finally, she’d have someone to share her misery with.  But even after the triplets, even after Sunny losing his job, even after Dawn’s battle with postpartum depression, they just kept on loving right in front of Marianne. It wasn’t always cute and sweet.  Sometimes it was raw. And hard. She watched how sometimes, Sunny carried it for them.  And other times, Dawn was the keeper until they could restore the balance between them. 

                And she’d ask herself, how come they had all the love?

                Realizing the answer was in the question had been a life altering moment for Marianne.  Because _they had all the love_.  They.  Loved. Marianne had loved Roland.  She had.  With everything her young heart could offer and naïve young girls had a lot to give.  But Roland hadn’t loved her. 

Marianne hadn’t lost her chance at love.  She just hadn’t met her Sunny yet. 

                And she knew, even as she made that turn in her grieving, that she couldn’t go back to the old Marianne.  She had to embrace the woman with baggage, the unrepentant fighter, because that’s who she was now.  But she’d clung very hard to the idea that someday, her own Sunny would walk into her life. 

                And now she clung very hard to Bog’s hand, leading him past rooms where children were sleeping, past the closed door where Dawn’s quiet giggling could still be heard, and through the heavy wood door at the far end of the house.  She clicked it shut behind them, plunging the steep flight of stairs into total darkness.  Bog started to lead her up them, but Marianne tugged him down, pushing him back onto the stairs until he sat and she could kneel on a riser between his legs and catch his face between her hands.

                She’d meant to kiss him with the same chaste adoration he’d given her earlier, a celebration of what he made her feel, but just before their mouths met, Bog’s breath caught in his throat with a faint moan and Marianne stilled, feeling as if he’d stroked her skin.  She touched her nose to his, slowly inhaling as she dragged it towards his cheek, and his jaw moved in her hands when another shaking hum spilling from his mouth and again, her body vibrated with pleasure.  She weakly leaned her forehead against his. 

                “You make me ache so badly.”

                “Then let me take ye upstairs, Marianne.”

                She nodded, backing off of his body. When Bog stood, he scooped her up with him, one arm around her back, the other under her legs.  It was absurdly romantic and Marianne allowed herself to enjoy it. Then he proceeded to take the stairs three at a time, his long legs making effortless work of it and she laughed, clinging to his neck. 

                The darkness gave away to a hazy glow and they found themselves staring in the room Dawn had prepared for them. Box springs and a mattress sat on the floor in front of the only small, square window. Old vintage blankets, faded in spots, were already turned down. White Christmas lights were strung from the ceiling in a large square over the bed and a few braided rugs crisscrossed the wooden floor with their quaint myriad of colors.

                Marianne needed to lose herself in him on that bed, more than she’d ever needed anything else before.  She pressed her cheek to his shoulder as he slowly approached it and sat down on the edge, still just cradling her body.   

“It’s been so very long since I’ve been touched,” she whispered, stroking her fingers through the hair fallen over his brow then very softly down the side of his face.

                “Ye don’t need touched, Marianne.” He lifted her up, pulling her over him until she straddled his lap.  “Ye need worshipped.”

                And how could a woman not simply melt at words like that?

Bog pressed his nose to the skin just above her shirt’s neckline and inhaled deeply, then pressed his lips to her skin in the same absorbent manner, as if he could draw her essence into his body.  Marianne drug her fingers through his hair, spearing them so deeply that the back of his head filled her hands.  He used one finger to draw her neckline down, allowing his mouth to scrape against her collar bone with an almost unbearable whisper of teeth. His other hand fisted the waist of her jeans, urging her fully against him while his mouth pulled at her throat and bit along every inch of skin he could persuade her shirt to reveal to him.  His teeth only dug deeper when she whimpered and rubbed down against him. 

“Ye burn me. Scorch me.” And he bit her, his voice dying with groan against the swell of her throat. 

She cupped his face in both hands, drawing him up.  His lips were red, the top one swollen unevenly and his eyes burned a hazy blue as if he were drugged by her, by the sexual pull between their bodies. 

“I didnae ever expect this,” he confessed, pressing a thumb against her bottom lips.

She dragged it into her mouth, sucking the salt from his skin until the tender light in his eyes grew darker. Tormented.  Until his mouth snarled and his hips moved under hers. 

And then she kissed him, sucking at his mouth and his tongue the same way he had her skin, as if she could bring his essence into her.  Bog’s nails raked against her back, clawing the shirt up and out of the way before he finally forced her back and pulled it off her completely. She caught his up too, dragging it over his head, then slid her arms around his body.

“Yer fucking pants,” he grunted, pushing her off of him again, his hands frantically moving the material down her body until she was completely naked.  He swallowed hard, his body a trembling mixture of awe and shuddering possessiveness.  She urged him onto his back and unbuttoned his pants before he could even bring his hands down.  Then she pulled the material off his body. She couldn’t help the little nip she took at his thigh as she moved back up the bed, couldn’t stop herself from brushing her nose against the tip of his erection, couldn’t stop her smile at his savage explosion of noise.  His hand locked in her hair and Marianne gladly followed his silent instruction. And like everything with him, it was tender and lovely, a joyful union of their bodies until it became carnal, wildly uncontrolled.  Until his teeth were bared to the soft light and his hand left her head, grappling desperately into the bed while corded muscles strained in his arms.    

She pulled up slowly, easing the pressure of her mouth before she gave into the urge to take him deeper and stroke his release into her throat. His chest shook with every breath, his legs quivered against her.  He watched her like he might a wild animal. 

And she had never felt more beautiful in her life. 

                Rising up onto one elbow, he crooked a finger at her.  She slowly moved up his body bringing her hips over his, but he gestured again.  Intrigued, she moved higher.  And higher more, following the hunger in his face until he sat her down on his chest, tilting her hips forward, letting her sink down against his mouth. 

                She shuddered out his name and his thumb stroked against her hip bone softly, but his mouth tortured her, the flat of his tongue working into her body with slow, rough strokes.  She grabbed at the wooden window sill, paint chipping off under her finger nails and still he sucked and tongue fucked her, even when she jerked hard against his face, bearing down with everything she had.  He scraped his mouth up, taking her clit gently between his teeth and her orgasm slammed down her spine. 

                Dimly, she became aware of the cold press of the dark window against her cheek.  Bog’s hands stroked her hips and down over her buttocks in a repeated, lazy gesture.  She tried to move off of him but her limbs buckled, and he gently caught her, pulling her down into the bed with him, bringing her head to his chest. 

                He kissed her fingertips, then used his own hand to draw their soft, plump shapes against his cheek.  “Yer so damn lovely.” 

                Wind tugged at the shingles on the roof, making a bitterly cold sound.  But Marianne was sure the heat radiating from her body would melt all the snow by morning.  He was still pressed hard and firm against her thigh where her leg lay boneless over his, but his arms just held her, his hands making slow trips over her body. 

                “Bog?” She asked softly, her throat scratchy from the cries he’d forced out of her. 

                “Aye?”

                “I feel like I’ve been waiting for you.” Laying with her head against his chest, she could hear the way his heart stumbled. 

                He caught her fingertips to his mouth again and held them there, his voice rasping against her sensitive nerve endings. “I feel like I’ve been searching for ye.”

                 She moved onto her side, drawing him with her, urging him over her until she was on her back and his wonderfully lean frame settled between her legs.  Marianne knew she wouldn’t feel found until he held her to this bed and used her body for his own pleasure.

Their mouths tangled together in slow, rocking kisses. He held her to him, petting her body with his wide palms, nudging her thighs open, dragging her knee up around his hip as he ground down.  He eased into her slowly, his eyes shut, fingers clamped around the back of her leg.  She stretched down, glorying in the ache of penetration. A sharp sound fell out of his mouth but he bit the others back, his hand crushing the pillow near her ear.  She clamped her teeth on his wrist and twisted her hips, marveling in the incoherent whimper stuck at the back of his throat. He pulled back and thrust into her, her breath hissed through her teeth.  He did it again and she bowed around the pleasure, widening the angle of her thighs for him, needing him to set a hard pace for her body.

But he ground each thrust out slowly, filling her with him as deeply as he could before drawing back and starting the sensuous process again.  Sweat prickled over her skin, and she fought to push back.  To rock her hips hard, bringing the release she needed but he only held her down, instead sliding one of her legs up over his shoulder.   And still, he took her slowly.  Letting her beg under him, letting her curse his name, letting her pant into a painful state of arousal, mouth etched with a silent plea, and finally he bruised her hips with his fingertips as he fucked her to release, letting long, hard clench of her orgasm draw his own out.    

                He slumped down into her numb arms and Marianne pressed a kiss to his temple, claiming him just as surely as he had her. 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ugly Christmas sweaters and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this. Dipping into this world and sharing a story with you guys has really freed up a creative block for me. So, I owe all of you an enormous thank you...your feedback has meant THE WORLD to me.

_One year later….._

                Marianne sucked down a blessedly hot gulp of coffee, ignoring the way Griselda and Dawn had their heads together, whispering over the bowls of dough they stirred while covertly watching her.  They looked like a pair of witches preparing to fatten up poor little children. 

                She bit into a piece of bacon, and her eye caught the container of frosting sitting by the fruit bowl.

                “Don’t do it,” Bog grunted at her side, smearing jelly over his toast. 

                “It’s not Christmas unless I get a stomach ache.”  She leaned up on her stool at the large island in Dawn’s kitchen and snagged the container of frosting. Before she could smear the bacon into it, Bog handed her a clean knife.

                “Some people just drink at Christmas, ye know, the civil way to make yerself sick,” he said with a gesture of his coffee towards Sunny who was curled up on the stool next to her with a blanket, a fizzing glass of alka setzler, and a Santa hat Dawn had perched on his head.  He’d drawn it down over his eyes, but insisted on participating in the festivities.  So long as no one got too loud.

Her dad had actually seemed to take pity on his son-in-law and volunteered to take the kids across the street for a while that morning, bestowing the gift of peace on the house before the party started that afternoon.

                Dawn dropped a ball of dough on the counter across them and dusted it with a bit of flour.  “Did you just smear frosting on bacon?”

                Marianne held out a piece and Dawn leaned over the counter, having to shuffle her large pregnant belly onto the flour coated surface.  Her brows puckered as she leaned back. “Tastes like heartburn.”

                “That shirt’s giving me heart burn,” Bog said. 

                Marianne punched his arm, and not lightly either. 

                “I didn’t think you liked turtle necks,” Dawn said. “So I’m a bit surprised that you went in my closet and helped yourself.”  

                “Maybe, I changed my mind.”

                “Ah, I see.” Dawn picked up a rolling pin and wacked the ball flat, making Sunny whimper, before she began rolling it out. 

                Griselda laid a bottle of Tylenol in front of Sunny and handed Bog another plate of cinnamon stewed apples.  “But do you think the dancing Santa’s and light up Christmas trees are really you, Marianne?”

She tugged on the neck of the restrictive joke of a shirt, glaring at all of them, but especially at Bog who’d covered her neck in bite marks last night, thus necessitating the ugly Christmas themed turtle neck in the first place.  She should never have even bothered getting out of the attic bed that morning.  “I was feeling festive.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Bog muttered into his coffee cup. 

A sharp laugh shot out of Dawn and she covered it with a pitying glance at her husband, but leaned back over the counter. “Oh, I bet you’re feeling festive. All merry and bright because it was _not_ a silent night.”

“God,” Marianne sputtered, begging herself not to blush. “And people think you’re the sweet one.”

Dawn laughed again, then groaned when she leaned back and realized she’d just dusted almost her entire pregnant belly in flour. 

Bog reached around Marianne to pull the Santa Clause hat off Sunny’s head and stretched over the counter towards Dawn, dropping the hat on her belly, turning the flour into a jolly man’s beard. “Now ye’ve got an ugly Christmas sweater, too.”

The kitchen filled with laughter, and Dawn started singing down to her stomach. “I’ve been an awful good girl, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Marianne saw the way Sunny seemed to forget his hangover as his wife danced around their kitchen, singing to their soon to be born sixth baby Dawn lovingly called ‘Oops’.  He dopey-smiled a moment, then insisted on a picture with his phone, making Marianne go stand with Dawn. 

 “A real smile, Marianne,” Sunny scolded. 

“Pretend yer feeling festive again.” Bog suggested.

And Sunny snapped a picture that Marianne would keep forever.  Sisters arm and arm, openly

laughing, their eyes each focused off camera on the men they loved.  

 

 

Despite being in the den at the back of the house, Bog could still hear his aunt’s arrival at the front door. Hard to miss when she shouted, “Hello, kittens! I’ve brought gifts and gossip and goodwill towards men!”

He figured the small block of time he’d eked out to write as coming to an end, which meant he had a Hot Wheels date with a four year old who’d extorted him by promising his mother that he’d keep his clothes on all weekend if Bog promised to play for an hour everyday with him.  And Bog had learned three months into Dawn’s pregnancy that ye don’t tell a pregnant woman no. 

He smiled, remembering their conversation yesterday upon his arrival at her home, Marianne still out on a tow call.  His instant compliance had made a momentarily frazzled-mother Dawn relax, the good humor slipping back into her face.  And she’d made him bend down so she could kiss his cheek, telling him he’d make a fine husband someday.

And for Bog, that had been all the approval he needed.

A frisson of awareness skated over his neck and he glanced up from his laptop.  Marianne watched him from the doorway. He flushed, passing his laptop bag from the seat next to him to down under the side table. 

“Am I interrupting?”

“No, just finishing.”  

She plucked the computer up from his lap, sat in its place and put the machine in back down in her own.  She fished chocolates out of her pocket and laid them on the keyboard, then unwrapped one and fed it to him, before taking one for herself. 

As he chewed, he pressed the little button at her collar bone that made the trees light up and flash.  The only way it could’ve been better is if it played music.  Despite the almost blinding frenetic lights of the shirt, he could still make out the hint of a red mark on her neck.  He knew if he tugged the sweater down, he’d see many more of its kind.  His only excuse was that returning to the same bed he’d first fallen head over heels in love with Marianne had made Bog feel at once romantic and ravenous.  He couldn’t help himself. 

She finished her chocolates and wadded the foil into a ball then stuck it into his breast pocket.  “Wanna hear something?”

He nodded, moving his computer out of her lap, so she could settle in a little closer to his chest. 

“Your aunt’s brought a couple of personal assistants with her, a woman named Stuff and a man named Thang.”

“They sound like people who would work for my aunt.”

“They look like people who would work for your aunt. For a woman best known in these parts for streaking, she’s made quite the life for herself telling other people what clothes to wear.”

He hummed in agreement, soaking up the feel of her in his arms.  In this house, private moments were guaranteed to be interrupted and should be savored while they could be.

“She also introduced me to them as your fiancé.”

Bog stopped rubbing his nose against her temple and held himself very still, until he swore even the blood in his veins stopped in its tracks. “And what did ye say to that?”

“Well.” Her fingers latched into his collar, her mouth slid up to his ear, but Bog could still detect a nervous trembling in the resonance of her voice and it slayed him. “I suppose just rolling with this sort of thing worked out well enough last year. And I hate to disappoint your aunt on Christmas.”

“Right. Well.” He blindly dug a hand under the side table, rapping his knuckle against it when Marianne kissed just under his earlobe. He closed his fist over the small box and brought it out, hissing a little when teeth replaced her mouth.

“Is that a yes?” She asked, drawing back.  She smiled, uncertainty hedging at the corners of her mouth.

“Only if ye agree to wear this.”

He’d had so very few opportunities to surprise Marianne.  The first when he asked her to move into his house mid-renovation sixth months ago.  The second when he reassured her that he absolutely expected her to bring all twelve of the cats with her. But this was different because she didn’t immediately smile and leap into his arms and tackle his mouth with hers. 

  He pushed the unopened box into her hand. “They say its fer better or fer worse. But no matter what happens, Marianne, my worse will always be the time before ye came into my life.  There will only be fer better with ye.”

“We’ll fight,” she stammered. “We’ll have our arguments and disagreements, Bog.”

“Aye, as we’ve had. But as long as ye’re the one I’m arguing with, it’ll always be fer better. I’m yers, Marianne.”

She touched his mouth with her fingertips, the gold of her eyes thrumming with emotion.  “I love you.”

He pulled her fingers down and tilted her hand until he could kiss her knuckles. “I love ye, too.”

She finally smiled, pressed deeper into his arms and tackled his mouth with hers.  He caught her against him joyfully, cupping the back of her head, unaware of Sunny and Dawn quietly backing out the doorway, leaving them alone just a little while longer.  Private moments in this house should be savored, after all.


End file.
